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“Wynthea?”
I slowly turned around, suddenly aware of just how exposed I was. Sigwulf’s gaze dipped to my breasts, just for a moment, but he slammed it back up to my face and held it there with obvious effort.
“Sorry. Hildfree came to my room to fetch me. She said you needed me. That there was an emergency…”
His brows drew together by increments, the frown deepening with every word I spoke.
I felt immensely silly.
Sigwulf sighed, putting down a hammer I just now noticed he’d been holding.
“What are you working on?” I asked, trying to change the subject. Now that I was here with him, I didn’t want to leave. It was a distressing feeling that grew stronger every day. Just knowing he was on the other side of the wall when I was lying in bed was torturous. Left me aching with something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in quite some time.
Loneliness.
And that loneliness only got worse, turned to grief, when I thought about how soon my contract here would end.
I would have new skills when I left this place, and a purse full of gold. I would have opportunities. Hope.
But none of that would matter if I left my heart behind in the process.
I would be leaving my heart, I realized with a gripping throb. In the past two and a half months, I’d tumbled past mere infatuation for the half-dragon, half-orc master of the castle.
I’d grown to love him. And blast, how I loved him.
I loved the way his sternness was softened by kindness. I loved the way he cared so deeply for Hildfree and Grimswald while maintaining a façade of being constantly annoyed by them. I loved the way he cooked and then ignored his own meal to watch me with rigorous focus as I ate. I loved the way his expression grew almost furious as he focused on small details in the library books. I loved his rare, blinding smiles.
And I loved this, too. The way he tried to shrug off whatever project he was working on down here. The total lack of arrogance or showing off.
“It isn’t finished,” he said gruffly, passing his hand over his braid as if to smooth it.
But it was already perfectly smooth. As always.
As if sensing my curiosity had been too piqued for me to leave yet, he stepped aside so I could see. I walked up to the table.
A half-finished model, constructed out of perfectly sanded and polished wood, lay on the table.
“Is that…” I squinted. “Is that this castle?”
It was. I was sure of it, now. It was a model of this very building, crafted perfectly to scale. I wonder why he’s building this…
“It’s a dollhouse.”
My nerves twanged, my breath slipping out of me. I leaned forward, planting my hands on the table for stability. It can’t be a dollhouse. Why would he… And for whom…?
“It’s for you.”
My lungs reluctantly re-inflated, breath dragging into me as my vision blurred with tears.
This was no simple gift. This wasn’t even on the same level as the beautiful green gown.
This was something else entirely.
He knew what a dollhouse would mean to me. I’d told him about the one I’d had as a child. The one I’d burned to stay alive. Sigwulf never did things lightly. He had to know what something like this would do to me.
“I didn’t want to try to imitate your father’s work, or eclipse it,” he said in explanation, rubbing a white rag over his hands, his bare forearms bulging. “That’s why I didn’t build a traditional house. I thought this might please you because it could be a souvenir of sorts. You could use it to remember m-” He stopped to clear his throat, tossing down his rag. When he continued, his voice was an octave lower. “Us.”
No one had done something like this for me since I was a child. No one had made anything for me, bought anything for me. No one else had taken me in, out of the cold, and cared for me, even though I was never meant to have come here at all.
